


But My Smile Still Stays On

by plush_anon



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, BlackIce, Body Horror, Heavy Angst, M/M, Onesided BlackIce, Pitch why are you so freaking stubborn, Post-Movie(s), Sad Ending, body collapse, inspired by Queen, just swallow your pride and ask for help, kind of?, not really tho, raarrrgh, some implications, you floofy doof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6215830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plush_anon/pseuds/plush_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Inside my heart is breaking,<br/>my makeup may be flaking,<br/>but my smile still stays on..."</p><p>Pitch is slowly collapsing, and does his best not to let the only spirit sympathetic to him find out about it - among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But My Smile Still Stays On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SumiSprite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SumiSprite/gifts).



> "If fear was ever loved, it would not be feared. If it is not feared, it will wither and die. And when it dies, so does the love once felt for it." - Sumi-Sprite

Like the visits, the cracks started slowly, unworthy of any serious attention or bother. Both would cease and desist eventually, and the Nightmare King's world would return to how it always was - dark, empty, and alone.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Pitch grimaced as his fingertips touched the stiff, uneven chips over his left breast (not his heart, oh never his heart - he'd never had one before the winter sprite, and no evidence would remain once he... well, once the time approached). He remembered the first faint, straggling outlines had appeared shortly after his Nightmares had dragged him home. It had been nothing, a faint residue left from injuries in battle or from his creatures' attacks on his psyche. Their connection to Jack wasn't even a hint of contemplation in his head; now, it was the sole thought ringing through his mind, apart from the cruelty that was his lo- No, that were his feelings for the - _NO_.

His emotions around Jack Frost - the Guardian - were unimportant, unworthy, barely deserving the painful admission. Pitch Black had more important things to worry over.

Such as covering them up.

Faded grey eyes glanced over a table filled with the oddest assortment of supplies. Blocks of wet clay, colored face paint, ceramic glue, finely crushed gravel, and a thousand other sealants and make-ups were scattered haphazardly about the surface, laid bare before the large mirror standing unsupported in the otherwise empty room. Jack had promised a visit later today, and it would not do to appear less than perfect, marred with cracks and flaws. Indeed, it would be terribly rude not to be somewhat presentable.

Shaking fingers with uneven nails clawed away chunks of the clay and smeared them heavily over his chest, smothering the cracks away into wishful thinking. The ceramic glue was carefully applied over the chips in his forehead, before slathered with liquid foundation and patted dry with the gravel dust. Latex appliances were carefully coated over the rest of his face and neck - this would allow for a more natural range of expressions to present themselves without suspicion of trickery - before being coated lightly with leftover Halloween make-up. This would also work to hide the heavy bags under his eyes, the withered condition of his ears, and the new, miniscule lines slithering down over his hands, like water rivulets slipping down an ice cube in the summer heat.

It was barely morning when he began, but by the time he finished covering his shame, his weakness for the young man who caused it all, it was late afternoon. His fickle skin was fixed to his satisfaction, and Pitch made sure to carefully examine his work in the mirror, as he always did. Nothing looked out of place, and his shadowy clothing covered the rest. He breathed in deeply, noting the strain in his ribs for examination the next day - he would likely have to bind them, more's the pity - and strode out to make the long journey to the globe in his lair. Normally it would only take a thought and a second to step into the shadows and emerge elsewhere. But Pitch's powers - what few remained, that is - were excruciatingly limited, and left him exhausted for days afterwards. He didn't dare to use them anymore, in fear of exacerbating his condition farther.

Except for Jack.

Dear, sweet Jack. With his unfettered innocence and his eyes, blue as a glacial sea, always filled with laughter or a smile for whomever he happened to glance at. Even for the Bogeyman, a pitiful, dying monster in a faded man's flesh, in denial of everything his life had come to.

A soft neighing and light snorts echoed through the halls, and Pitch sped up, ignoring how he was rushing desperately towards the glorious sound, while sharp rocks tore viciously at his feet.

 _ **Pathetic wretch**_ , a Fearling hissed into his ear as he passed by. _**Running like a bitch in heat to its master. He'll only break you when he finds out. You know this - why bother going on?**_

"Oh, do shut up," he gasped as he brushed the foul creature away, not even stopping to watch it dissipate and scatter like dust in the sunrise. He turned two corners, and the stone lump in his chest gave a plaintive groan as it lurched uneasily against his skin. He swallowed the pain, and let a smile seep through, small and quick at the sight that greeted him.

It was Jack - of course it was, who else would it be? - playing with the last of his Nightmare foals on the floor. His laughter rang out like the harmonious peals of church bells in the dawn, as the foal nickered and snuffled happily into the cool flesh of his stomach, tickling him.

Lucky Bastard. He bet its thoughts weren't filled with ridiculous amounts of romantically inclined prose.

He stood for a moment, to catch his breath and enjoy the sight of someone happy in his presence, someone who came willingly, before he made himself known. He cleared his throat, lifting a fist to his lips in an attempt to stifle the sudden bubble of happiness that swelled painfully in his chest. "Interesting choice of activity to partake in with a demonic beast, don't you think?"

Jack leapt a good six feet into the air at the sound of Pitch's low voice as he padded past, silently willing his feet not to bleed and leave tracks everywhere. Well, at least while Jack was there. Then they could go to town and drown the whole damn cave, if they so pleased.

"Aww, Sleepy isn't demonic, he's cuddly."

"First, as I have told you countless times, his name is Nox. NOX. Secondly, there is no such thing as a cuddly Nightmare."

Jack gathered himself up and dusted off the black particles clinging to his hoodie. "Hey, oxymorons can exist in real life."

"Oh yes, they certainly do."

"I said oxymorons, not morons."

"There's a difference? Oh dear, however will I cope with this strange and sudden onslaught of knowledge you spew so eloquently?" He leaned against the wall with a hand pressed to his brow, feigning drama as an excuse to rest for a moment. 

"Oh ha ha, very funny."

"There's nothing funny about drastically life-altering facts, Jack."

"Puh-lease, you're just being sarcastic."

"Sah-cast-eek? What on earth is that?" Pitch turned to the winter spirit with wide eyes, feigning confusion (the worry was real enough on its own). "Is it contagious?"

Jack rolled his eyes, as he bounded up to the peak of his shepherd's crook, balancing on the balls of his feet. "No, of course it isn't contagious, Pitch. You have absolutely nothing to worry about in the slightest degree. At all, whatsoever. Period."

"Oh dear," Pitch murmured, as Jack floated over, his shoulder close enough to reach by and graze it with calloused fingertips. "It is contagious. We're all doomed now. I do hope you're happy."

"Yeah yeah, little late for that, I think." Jack touched down again, watching the globe spin. "Hey, Pitch?"

"Mmm? What is it, Frost? Care to show us another display of your witty repertoire?"

The boy fell silent, making the caverns seem drastically larger than they had a moment before. "Your lights are almost gone."

This was true. Pitch only had a handful of believers left, and their lights continually flickered like candle flames in a snowstorm. The older spirit certainly wasn't strong enough to travel above ground, and he didn't dare to send his Nightmares up anymore. The few he had sent up to work over the past few years never returned; he only had four left, including the foal, and they were only sent out to pick up new clays and make-ups. On these trips they ALWAYS came back, and Pitch had a sneaking suspicion as to why.

When the cracking had started to get bad, Pitch had been the one to sneak up to the surface for supplies to cover it up with. That was around the time he first started having problems with shadow travel. The last time he had been to the surface was when he'd broken into a costume shop to steal more Halloween paint, and he'd nearly been caught by Sandman. He was chased across a twelve mile distance before he made it down to his lair and passed out. When he woke up again, he was in his bed, with golden dreamsand sprinkled over his breaking shoulders and his bag of supplies carefully laid out by his feet. For the first few weeks, Pitch lived in desperate fear, fear that the fat little creampuff would 'tell' Jack, that Jack would come storming down demanding what the hell was wrong with him and why he never said anything and that no one was going to leave until he said EXACTLY what was going on.

But months went on, and Jack still came, oblivious and annoyingly (refreshingly) upbeat. Pitch knew then that the Sandman wasn't going to 'say' anything. He thought he knew why. Sandman was probably enjoying this, what was happening to him - maybe he even gloated over it, or looked down on him in condescending pity for the unnatural, unnecessary perversion of Nature that was Pitch Black.

Pitch still wondered if Sandman had told other spirits outside of Jack, and what they thought, if he had. Would they - no - _how_ would they celebrate the news of his impending demise? Would they take bets on when Death came to his door and dragged him away? Would they send Death a fruit basket for her excellent work in finally ridding the world of that horrid pest they all despised? Who knew...

A chilly hand grasped his shoulder, and Pitch physically fought back the moan of pleasure at the simple touch - so kind, so sweet, nothing like it ever felt before - and a groan of pain as the stone in his body crumbled slightly, the rough flakes churning in the pit of his abdomen. He looked over, careful to school his face into a display of calm, collected disinterest _(lies, all lies)_ as he saw Jack's open display of worry.

"Pitch? Are you - I mean - that is to say, um - it -"

"How am I holding up?" he supplied. "Well enough, I supposed. Not my best and brightest moment, but fairly decent all things considered - "

"Shut up, that's not what I meant." Pitch's jaw clicked shut in surprise at the hard tone he heard. For once, Frost was being serious. "I just - I wanna make sure you're doing okay, considering - well - that." He waved a hand in the general area of the globe to emphasize his point further.

"I'll manage. I have managed before, I will manage again, I'm sure. Now, aren't you late to snow on someone else's parade?"

"Not for another half-hour. Look, Pitch - "

"Jack, listen, I'll be - " he was cut off by a sharp cry.

"You're bleeding!"

"What? Where?" Pitch looked over himself, glancing down his chest and his arms before looking down at his feet. Indeed, he was standing in a growing puddle of his own blood, brown and sickly. A litany of archaic curses reverberated in his throat; they couldn't wait another ten minutes to do this? The nerve of them. "Oh, that. It's nothing to be concerned about Jack, I just had too long a walk today on some of the rougher paths. It will heal on its own time. Now, let's get you back up. I'm sure travel will take a while, given the warm front that's blown in recently." He reached over and gently wrapped a skeletal hand around Jack's forearm _(he didn't recoil, he hasn't pushed me away, he's letting me touch him I can't believe it)_ and tried to pull him towards the main entrance to his lair.

But Jack didn't move. He was too busy staring, horrified, at Pitch. "You didn't know?" He asked incredulously. "You - you didn't know it was your feet. Why?! You looked in other places before your feet, are you hurt there, too? What's going on, what's wrong? Tell me Pitch, tell me. Please. Something's wrong with you, and -"

"- and it's only your imagination. I don't have a nervous system, Jack, so it's rather difficult for me to feel pain anymore _(lies, lies, so many lies)_ and the feet always bleed out most when they're cut. It's nothing. Now, I'm sure now that you're going to be late, and the summer looks to be horrendously hot, so I'll be sure to see you around September then, alright? Jack?"

The Guardian removed Pitch's hand from his arm (and there was the rejection, cutting sharp again) and looked him in the eye. "You walked the paths? You never walk the paths, you always travel by shadow."

"Not always," he argued. "Shadow travel is simply quicker whenever I have something to do. Now that there's nothing to do, I can take the time to walk."

"And not take the time to wrap up your feet when they get cut up?" Silence answered him, and realization dawned. "You - you can't travel through shadows anymore, can you? You - you're losing your powers, and you never bothered to SAY anything to me? I could have helped you!"

"Oh really?" the Nightmare King drawled, as he slid away from the young man. "And how, pray tell, could you have helped me with anything? You are a Guardian, in case you've forgotten, and your job is to keep ME from having any believers or any power whatsoever! It is NOT to help me. It has NEVER been to help me. And it never will be."

"Pitch..." the voice was pleading, heartbreakingly so. Almost literally. "Just - please, just tell me what's going on. Tell me what's wrong, let me help you. If nothing else, then as a friend. Please."

 _You could tell him right now_ , a voice in the back of his mind whispered enticingly. _No more worries, no more hiding. Tell him._

_Tell him._

_**NO.** _

Pitch sighed, and looked over at his companion with sad eyes. How things could have been different, how they could have been together... He looked down at his feet, now soaked in glistening fluids, and felt a wave of dizziness hit him.

He didn't have much time left. He had to be quick.

"It's my Nightmares, Jack."

"What?"

"After the battle, I was too weak to go out and feed. Fear is my sustenance, quite literally I assure you. So my Nightmares would go out and bring some back for me. Only, after a while, they stopped coming back at all. Now I only have four left, and I don't want to lose them, Jack. They're all I have left, and we're starving. No energy means no powers. No powers means no manner to obtain fear to fulfill the hunger, to provide the energy, and so on. It's a vicious cycle, and it's killing us. But there's nothing to be done about it now." He turned away, shuffling past the globe to gaze at the weak starlight filtering into the cave from the entrance, the only way out. Such a pretty sight...

"Nothing? Are-are you sure about that? I mean, maybe you could make a deal with the Guardians to -"

"And who would I make it with, Frost? The one whose holiday I ruined, or with the one I killed? Or how about the one whose family and life's work I stole? Yes Jack, I'm sure they'd all be racing to rescue me." Pitch could almost hear Jack wincing, but he shook it off. "Believe me when I say I have looked over every option, and every possible outcome from taking the option. At best, I and my creatures would end up a servant or slave to some other spirit, miserable as they gloated over having the once powerful Nightmare King and his pets as their minions to do their dirty work for them. And at worst, well... I'm sure you can imagine the worst for yourself just fine."

"B-But fear isn't that bad! I mean, yeah, in huge amounts it's absolutely terrible - "

"Oh this is making me feel _**so much better -**_ "

"-but it can be useful, too. Do you know how many kids I've seen sneak out at night into the snow and just - just - fade? They go outside in the freezing wind, and I can't do anything but make it worse, and all I can do is - is just _**sit**_ there, and watch them go. If I had one of the Nightmares, I could keep the kids inside on the worse nights, keep 'em safe, keep 'em alive. Instead of just..." Jack's lip trembled, and his face wrenched before he could turn away to hide.

But Pitch saw everything a person tried to contain. They were always afraid to show too much emotion, and for that he could read the world like a picture book, plain and open. Jack was being honest, empathy running high as little Nox nuzzled against his side, trying to rub the bad emotion off and distract the poor child.

They really had connected so nicely...

"Take Nox, then."

The white mop of head snapped up, snowflake eyes wide and startled. "What?"

"You - you heard me, Frost. He likes you well enough, takes to you quite nicely - and I - I know that of all the spirits I could trust him to, you would treat him best, treat him well and not abuse him. I know you'd take the best of care, keep him safe from Sandman's touch. I can tell - he's quite fond of you." This point was further emphasized by a smooth, gray tongue lapping at the limply hanging hand at Jack's side, slipping easily between the fingers in order to suck his uneasiness away.

"You mean - I could keep him? He'd be mine? Forever?"

"As long as you'll have him and keep him, he'll have you."

A sudden rush of cold wind was the only warning he received, and Pitch was toppled into the hard stone floor by a sudden armful of winter sprite. He faintly noted in the back of his mind that his thighs were now badly fractured, but the Bogeyman couldn't bring himself to care.

The Guardian of Fun was hugging him.

He'd never been hugged before. No one hugged the Bogeyman. No one.

Except for Jack Frost, apparently.

Pitch hesitantly laid one hand on his back, rubbing circles into the soft blue material of the hoodie, while his other arm came around and pulled him closer. Jack's face was smooshed into his chest, and at a moment like this Pitch wished he could feel it - the clay kept him from feeling most of the lovely sensation. The younger spirit's arms were tightly clenched around his waist, making warmth tingle along his sides like New Year's sparklers.

And he was being straddled. His skin felt uncomfortably tight, caked in mud and paint, and he felt sick to his stomach. Sweet young lad that he was, he didn't suspect a thing. He just continued to cling to Pitch, smile stretching across his face as if he'd been handed the moon on a platter.

"You really mean it? I - I can keep him, as my own?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't meant it, child. Of course you can keep him. Just - try to keep him fed, would you? And it would be best if the other Guardians didn't know about -"

"Yeah, no, I know, they'd get all tiffy about it and everything."

"Tiffy?"

"But this - it just - you have no idea how much this means to me. I - everyone else has something. North has his elves and yetis and reindeer, Tooth has her fairies, Sandy has his mermaids and Bunny has his Egg Sentinels and butterflies. And while I have my snow animals, they don't... last like everyone else's companions do.. But now I have someone too, someone who'll be there when no one else can come around and I won't be reminded of when I was alone anymore and oh thank you so much Pitch thank you thank you thank you."

Jack squeezed his waist once again, before loosening his hold _**(he didn't have to, he never had to, he wish he'd never let go again)**_ and looking up with a large grin, tears sparkling in his eyes. "No one's ever given me a pet before."

His smile was so large, so genuine, that Pitch could hear his heart splintering even as he smiled back. It really was like freshly fallen snow, he mused. So lovely. "Well, I'm happy to be the first good memory of something, for a change. Now, I think it's time the two of you be off - " _don't leave don't leave please don't leave me **stay forever**_ "- you both have a lot to get used to together, a lot to learn. As well, I think that I can hear the children's terror at another wet, warm winter growing by the second. You'd best be off. Nox?"

The little black foal fluttered up to him, black sand streaming behind him in pearlescent ribbons. He nickered twice, and licked his cheek. "Take good care of him. Keep him safe, and he'll protect you in return."

"Don't worry, I will." The boy was practically bouncing in place, eager to set off, eager to see the world with a 'living, breathing' companion by his side. Pitch looked over at him, face pointedly unamused.

"I was talking to the horse, you silly sod."

A sheepish little smile answered him. "Right, yeah. Um, sorry about that."

"No need; it's a simple mistake." He wove his fingers through the sifting mane for the last time, before releasing Nox back to his new master. Jack kissed the little dear on the nose, and Pitch felt his heart slam heavily against his ribs, cracking them like dry twigs. He slid forward, and ushered the two out.

"Now, I expect a visit sometime in November from the two of you, just to make sure both of you are still alive and well and not injured in a ditch somewhere."

"We promise. But only if you promise to wrap up your feet. I don't wanna come back and see you in a thousand pieces."

 _ **That may be harder to manage than you think,**_ Pitch mused, but said, "I'll do my best. Off you go. Spoil the little brats in Argentina with snow and horror."

"We will." He was beaming, quivering in the air. Nox was feeding off of his excitement nicely; he couldn't wait to see what it was like outside the caves. "Oh, and Pitch?"

"Hm?"

"Just - thanks. For letting me take Nox, and letting me come by all the time and annoy you, and - "

"Nox was taken to you like fish to water the first time he saw you. And, if I'm being any sort of honest... the visits weren't as horribly painful as I imagined they would be."

"Awww... you do care." He bent down to Pitch like a curious avian creature, and in the blink of an eye, pecked him on the tip of his nose. Before it fully registered to Pitch what had happened, Jack was flying off into the moonless night with Nox prancing at his heels with glee.

His large gray eyes felt like they were bubbling over with hot lava, as a fiery wetness sank down his cheeks. "More than you'll ever know, my dear. It's a secret that I'm taking to Death herself, and not even you could stop me if you tried."

There it was - another lie _(perhaps the last? Who could say)_. But it didn't matter now. With quivering hands and a shaky smile baptized in the rarest of waters, Pitch summoned his last vestiges of power, his three Nightmares, and bid them to seal the entrance with their remaining strength. Their dying shrieks would echo for days afterwards in the caverns, but he paid the cruel sound no mind. In fact, he paid no attention to anything else, as he slowly began to crumble and fade into his precious shadows.

Jack Frost had kissed him.

Oh, happy day.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this piece came about as a response to another Sumi-Sprite prompt, seen here: 
> 
> http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/1511.html?thread=1472743
> 
> I was hit with a massive burst of inspiration in the late hours of the night while listening to Queen, and here we are.


End file.
